


Good Knight

by Nicole Crucial (moilArchitect)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Dersecest - Freeform, F/M, Incest, Sadstuck, alphaverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-02
Updated: 2012-05-02
Packaged: 2017-11-04 17:58:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/396621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moilArchitect/pseuds/Nicole%20Crucial
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Rose Lalonde and you are dying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Knight

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Rose/Dave fic, also known as dersecest or incest! Don't go any farther if you don't care for it.
> 
> Otherwise, enjoy.

You have always wished (in vain and in secret, of course), to go out with a bang, and accordingly, the holes that puncture your torso almost resemble the entranceways of bullets. Suitably ironic and true to form of the Condesce, you think, head full of clarity even amidst the delirium; even in murder, she grants her victims just enough to make them hate her all the more, and of course, that's exactly the reaction she wants.

Your hate, of course, is so powerful that even years of self-restraint cannot tame it. Its fury is denying you the satisfaction of denying _it_ from the batterwitch, but you suppose that is hardly your biggest problem right now.

Even dimensions away from your alternate past as a Hero of Light, the hum of your Seer's intuition and the woeful moans of the horrorterrors have still told you plenty about it. Past, present, future; and most of all, inevitability. You've been waiting to die from the day you were born. Perhaps that is why you have always loved so dearly to stray towards the dark, despite (or perhaps in accordance with) your otherworldly acclimation towards its opposite.

But a lifetime of anticipation, of playing out every scenario in your dark and twisted head a thousand times over, cannot prepare you for this. Dying is not glorious; not when the "bang" you go out with leaves you bleeding out on the floor with every tormented thought still circling like a predator in your sped-up mind, waiting for its prey to falter. Dying is actually quite terrifying, you decide after what seems like an eternity, observing with the same detachment that has always served you well. Only, detachment isn't working, and you can hear the gods keening (already mourning and you're not even dead, the bastards), and a protective layer of horseshit apathy does not chase away the darkness creeping in at the edge of your vision of the blood slowly filling your lungs and drowning you.

Drowning strikes you as appropriate but you're not sure how; it must be another brief, contextless glimpse of another life, another you, or a you that you know frustratingly little about.

You are glad that your life does not flash before you; you have already taken care of reliving every moment, every mistake you ever made and didn't make. A girl must make her preparations, after all, though now you are not sure why you ever entertained ideas of experiencing your last moments fully conscious of the unforgiving world around. It might be nice to spend the end remembering every insult, every catfight, every drink and smirk and lingering kiss, but this is a choice you made and you will be more damned than you are already if you are going to regret it now of all times.

Speak of the devil himself (though you have always thought yourself the corrosive one), something besides memories does appear. Out of focus, splashes of red upon more red, a shock of pale hair just as blood-matted as yours, and of course, the trademark shades that seem to be the only thing not blurring.

Ah, Mr. Strider. How very punctual. What brings you to be actually on time for once?

You reach with a shaking, purple-tangled hand and would laugh at the feebleness of the movement if you could breathe. Dave doesn't protest, and though you don't quite know how, the shades come off and he is eyes-wide-open, and they are red as the blood smearing you both.

cmon lalonde that hurts you know i wouldnt miss this shit for the world

Not even for Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff?

The shades click softly to the ground and for a moment you catch a glimpse of the sword jammed carelessly into his side.

Of course Dave would die just ironically enough to piss him off.

Of course he would die right next to you, close but not close _enough._

course not what kinda fuckin gentleman you think i am

That is just the Condesce's way, and she is very fucking adept at orchestrating her sadistic machinations.

You can feel the blood trailing from your smile, now more red than black, as you feel him unceremoniously drag off your headband, leaving your hair to dust over your dimming eyes. You think you see the ghost of a broken smirk on him, but you can't be sure. (You hope it's there, you really fucking do.)

Of course you'll die first. You'll die first because he thinks he should (damn Knights), because only a Hero of Time can remember a doomed session and another lifetime like he can, and because that means he has already seen too much death and you haven't seen enough.

My sincerest apologies; my intention was not to ignoble the Knight.

Your mind flits to frighteningly accurate daydreams of the future, where a girl and boy who look just like the two of you except less dead inside pore painstakingly over his scripts and your dense literature, and you are at long last glad you didn't cut out the death scene of David and Roseanne. This death scene, in fact, forged from visions whispered piece by agonizing piece, wisdom of the grotesque dark gods, except much less fucking desolate.

neither of us really wanna be here in the first place huh

You realize he is crying and also that you are crying and that is far, far too much.

It would look bad if neither of us showed up to our own dramatic death scenes.

You hate self-inserts just as much, if not more, as the next snobby self-respecting writer, but this is different.

so i guess its goodbye

Yes, it is.

After all, you think as you finally fade, the real Rose and Dave don't get one last kiss.

Good knight.


End file.
